“Morrel,” said he, “it is a happy day for me, to feel that I am beloved by such a man as you. Good-morning, Emmanuel; you will come with me then, Maximilian?”
“Did you doubt it?” said the young captain.
“But if I were wrong——”
“I watched you during the whole scene of that challenge yesterday; I have been thinking of your firmness all night, and I said to myself that justice must be on your side, or man’s countenance is no longer to be relied on.”
“But, Morrel, Albert is your friend?”
“Simply an acquaintance, sir.”
“You met on the same day you first saw me?”
“Yes, that is true; but I should not have recollected it if you had not reminded me.”
“Thank you, Morrel.” Then ringing the bell once, “Look.” said he to Ali, who came immediately, “take that to my solicitor. It is my will, Morrel. When I am dead, you will go and examine it.”
“What?” said Morrel, “you dead?”
“Yes; must I not be prepared for everything, dear friend? But what did you do yesterday after you left me?”
“I went to Tortoni’s, where, as I expected, I found Beauchamp and Château-Renaud. I own I was seeking them.”
“Why, when all was arranged?”
“Listen, count; the affair is serious and unavoidable.”
“Did you doubt it!”
“No; the offence was public, and everyone is already talking of it.”
“Well?”
“Well, I hoped to get an exchange of arms,—to substitute the sword for the pistol; the pistol is blind.”
“Have you succeeded?” asked Monte Cristo quickly, with an imperceptible gleam of hope.
“No; for your skill with the sword is so well known.”
“Ah?—who has betrayed me?”
“The skilful swordsman whom you have conquered.”
“And you failed?”
“They positively refused.”
“Morrel,” said the count, “have you ever seen me fire a pistol?”
“Never.”
“Well, we have time; look.” Monte Cristo took the pistols he held in his hand when Mercédès entered, and fixing an ace of clubs against the iron plate, with four shots he successively shot off the four sides of the club. At each shot Morrel turned pale. He examined the bullets with which Monte Cristo performed this dexterous feat, and saw that they were no larger than buckshot.
“It is astonishing,” said he. “Look, Emmanuel.” Then turning towards Monte Cristo, “Count,” said he, “in the name of all that is dear to you, I entreat you not to kill Albert!—the unhappy youth has a mother.”
“You are right,” said Monte Cristo; “and I have none.” These words were uttered in a tone which made Morrel shudder.
“You are the offended party, count.”
“Doubtless; what does that imply?”
“That you will fire first.”
“I fire first?”
“Oh, I obtained, or rather claimed that; we had conceded enough for them to yield us that.”
“And at what distance?”
“Twenty paces.” A smile of terrible import passed over the count’s lips.
“Morrel,” said he, “do not forget what you have just seen.”
“The only chance for Albert’s safety, then, will arise from your emotion.”
“I suffer from emotion?” said Monte Cristo.
“Or from your generosity, my friend; to so good a marksman as you are, I may say what would appear absurd to another.”
